T E M P T A T I O N
by PandoraTreasure
Summary: Few are truly born evil and I was no exception. I was once an innocent kit who held high aspirations to make my beloved family proud. I was too ambitious for my own good (I knew that from early on) and that was my downfall. Everything got a bit . . . out of hand and I found myself fighting, almost to death, everyday just to survive. That's when everything started to . . . spiral.
1. PROLOGUE

**TEMPTATION**

**PROLOGUE**

"Isolation offered its own form of companionship."

Jhumpa Lahiri.

I stared down at the lapping puddle of transparent water. This had been my supporting source of isolation for the past few moons, allowing me to see my nebulous reflection. I had once attempted to form the pieces of my life into a solid picture, but my attempts had failed and I soon stopped.

Instead, I choose to ponder. I often think back to the blissful days in which I did not desire to find myself and my purpose. Days when I was loyally devoted to the closest thing I can call my family.

Would my beloved father be proud of what I have become? Would my dearest mother be able to live with the things that I have done?

I doubted it. Not even my own siblings could deal with what I have done in my lifetime. I was not remorseful, nor was I filled with anguish. I am not going to apologise for merely surviving. I am regretful, though.

I had once dreamed that I could redo everything I had done. To make everything better for everyone. Then, perhaps, I could be accepted back. Not just by my clan, but by my friends and siblings. Those dreams soon faded into specks of hope and soon diminished into bittersweet memories.

I would have done it all over again, though. That's why I can never be forgiven. By both myself and my friends.

And that is why I am in segregation from everyone I know. Except myself, of course. I can never get rid of who I am. No matter how hard I attempt to crush my true self with caring facades.

I turned my gaze to the young cat to my right. Eyes bright and full of curiosity; no doubt they had heard of the elderly, soon-to-be dead feline who stalked the shadows and was self-exiled into isolation.

"You want to hear my story?" I echoed, almost bitterly surprised. No one truly cared about my story and I did not care to tell them. I do not like to be judged by people who do not know why I did certain things. People who had not walked in my paws.

But what is this young cat going to do?

A small head rapidly nods in exhilaration and anticipation at my question.

I am going to die, anyway. Perhaps this young cat can learn from my mistakes. Maybe I can do some good in the world. One less evil being would be success enough for me.

"Very well," I began. "I shall tell you my story . . ."

**A/N: ****Hey, there. I realise that this prologue is short and may be a tad rushed (I always did have trouble with that). I appreciate comments and constructive criticism. I'm always eager to improve. I also do not own Warriors. The characters depicted in this story are my own, however. See everyone next time!**


	2. CHAPTER I

**TEMPTATION**

**CHAPTER I**

"Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die."  
Carrie Fisher.

When I was born, I was an awfully average kit. A bit on the scrawny side. Small, too. But ultimately normal. I had a scruffy black pelt that seemed to always be ruffled in a clumsy manner and awkwardly big amber eyes. I was not the slender beauty of my mother, nor the heavily-built fighter of my father.

I do not know who I inherited my attributes from, for even everyone else in my clan appeared to either be a slender build or a muscular build. I was taught by my mother and father never to judge somehow based on their appearance and to never underestimate them. But whilst I never judged anyone on their appearance, cats often judged me for my scrawniness and small size.

I was an outcast from the very start without even trying.

My brothers were different, though. Bigger. With more muscle. They were the perfect cats that our clan needed, both a deadly combination of precision and determination. While they were very fierce in battle and almost just as bad outside of battle, they never mocked me, nor did they bully me.

Quite the opposite. My brothers were truly the best siblings I could have ever asked for in my entire life and I was sure I did not deserve them and their love. They protected me and, most importantly, they believed in me and my unreachable ambitions.

I suppose I should not had envied them, for they were my family and only wanted the very best for me. They were kind to me and I was their beloved younger sister. I was the weakest link and they never cast me out, nor did they tease me for being so feeble.

But I just couldn't help myself resenting the fact they looked more promising than I did. More like street cats that are going to go far within our blood-thirsty clan without being corrupt. My brothers were survivors from the very start and I knew that my parents did not even believe that I would make it through the night.

In fact, I was not named until a few days later. Even then, naming me was a quick process. An easily forgotten one. I was dubbed Shadow. I disliked the name Shadow. It made me seem . . . _invisible_. Forgotten. Concealed by darkness.

Despite everything, though, I was glad not to be named Tiny. That would have been even worse, though I am sure my parents did not name me that just to please me. No doubt they wanted an easy but proud-worthy name for their youngest kit.

Ironically enough, I seemed to be in the shadow of my brothers for most of my lifetime. They did cast a very large shadow and I could never find my own light. My own glory against their greater triumphs. For every mouse I would metaphorically catch, they could catch multiple more metaphoric squirrels.

It seemed natural, at first, that I would be cast aside. I was the youngest and the weakest. Weak did not survive on the streets. For years I had convinced myself that my parent were aloof because they believed I would not survive. They did not want to suffer the heartbreak of loosing their beloved kit.

Now . . . I am not so sure.

It was not just my appearance and physical health. Personality, too. I think that was the very worst part of my life: being shamed and disliked because of my own personality. I was disliked for who I was deep down inside, not because of how I looked on the outside. It was almost unbearable.

My brothers (named Lion and Strike) were true warriors. They held the disposition and characteristics of a true cat on the streets. They were charming, brave and loyal friends. Lion and Strike put our family before their own goals, the happiness and survival of our clan mattered more to them than their own happiness and survival. They proved that on multiple occasions, of course.

The affection and the gratitude easily, too. Whenever they were praised for their triumphs, both Lion and Strike could come up with a charming reply that would somehow make them seem even stronger without seeming arrogant. It came naturally to them to be charismatic and charming.

They did not just have the personalities correct for thriving on the streets. No. My brothers were a lot more accomplished than that. They were both a deadly combination of personality and skills in battle: the only things needed to succeed in our clan.

Lion was heavily built and used his sheer strength in fights. He could easily strike someone down with a single blow and seldom did he fight a cat with more muscular and bigger build than he.

Strike was more slender and used his swift speed to repeatedly hit the opponent. He seemed to be the complete opposite of Lion and was very intelligent whilst fighting, too.

The two brothers evened each other out and both always fought together. Never one another, they were a team. I was jealous of that, of course I was. I was envious of everything my brothers did better than me. Which was mainly everything.

I, on the other hand, was built for something different. Slightly more . . . evasive. I was built for hiding in the ebony shadows and allowing my brothers to do all the fighting before I could come out. I was the weak, pathetic feline who fled at the first sight of danger that I could not beat.

It was my first instinct to run . . . and I loathed it.

I despised the very thing I was built for. The only thing I can do. I truly did try to fight and be brave, even when I felt like cowering in fear. I never did achieve the lengths of bravery that I desired to reach.

I couldn't fight, nor could I hunt. I wasn't a good leader, nor a good follower; I only thought of myself and my family. It seemed that I was not built for anything worthy.

And, at that moment in time, I was bringing dishonour to my family. I hated disappointing my family, terribly so. The expressions of hope whenever I came back from sparring with Lion and Strike. Not even my brothers could teach me and my parents soon lost hope of me redeeming myself.

So I decided to change. I decided to hide my cold, aloof and cowardly nature deep, deep down inside of me and replace it with a brave, skilled warrior facade. I told myself that I was destined for greatness and, after a few days, I began to believe myself.

And so, my change began on the eighth moon of my life. The day that I decided I was going to be a true Bloodclan cat.

**A/N: Sorry for the lack of words, I'm not yet used to doing more than a thousand. I'm trying to improve, so if anyone has any tips or constructive ****criticism, it will be welcomed! **


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